Page 29 of Your Pace or Mine
“No, not really,” Jamie replied. Altruism didn’t exist as far as Jamie was concerned. Everyone had a motive, and this was just like Jamie running the bloody marathon to get attentionfrom the gatekeepers of his industry. He just didn’t understand Darius’s angle here.
“Some of us care about more than being famous,” Darius shot back.
Dickhead.“That’s rich, coming from you, at least my career serves a fucking purpose.”
“Oh, and what purpose is that?”
“Seriously? Theatre entertains. Educates. Gives people space to dream and feel seen and connected.” Even as he said it, Jamie realised he was idealising. Theatre hadn’t given him any of that for a long time. “You, though? Your entire raison d’être seems to be making sure everyone knows you’re the fastest of them all. Couldn’t have picked a more selfish career if you’d tried. Not exactly saving lives out there.”
An unhappy look darkened Darius’s face. Probably just embarrassed that Chi and the others had seen him lose his stoic façade, even just a little.
“Whatever. I’ve got a class to get to,” Jamie muttered. His dramatic exit was hampered by his slow hobble towards the gate and Mark’s incessant grouching about how unfair it all was.
“Physio, Jamie!” Darius shouted at his back, which he waved off.
He’d be fine by next week. He’d bounced back from worse before.
Chapter 8
Darius
10 weeks to the London Marathon
Sunday lunch at his family manor was never something Darius looked forward to, but it was a necessary evil. If he wanted to see Selena and keep his father off his back about his career, he had to submit to the charade every so often.
Darius got out of the taxi at the lower gate, leaving a generous tip for the driver. The long walk up the gravel drive to the house would give him time to collect his thoughts, at least. He hadn’t brought anything with him, hoping that he’d be able to get away early enough to catch the last train back to London and sleep in his own bed. The townhouse may not officially be his, just another extension of his father’s vast holdings, but it felt more like home than this place ever had. Or at least, more than this place had since his mum had left.
Darius’s relationship with his father was… complicated, to say the least. He knew he cared about him and Selena, of course. He’d cared enough to stick around at least, which he’d learned at fifteen was not a guarantee when it came to parents. He was a difficult man, though.
The Duke had been a runner once. He was the star of the Oxford cross-country team, to hear him tell it, but he’d never pursued it professionally. Duties to the duchy and to fatherhood had consumed him at a young age, both thrust upon him when Darius’s grandparents died just after Darius’s birth.
Darius understood him better now. As an adult, he could see the immense pressure his father must have been under. But that didn’t erase a childhood full of terse reminders of his failings, of closed doors and cold words. And it didn’t change the disappointment Darius was certain his father still carried about the way he lived his life.
As the manor came into view, Darius took in the perfectly manicured rosebushes that lined the drive, planted by his grandmother, a wealthy Ethiopian woman who had been swept off her feet by his grandfather when she’d studied at Oxford.
When he was young, people had always framed it as a great love story, but Darius had since wondered if love was really the right word for erasing every trace of a person’s heritage, as his grandfather had done. There was hardly anything of his grandmother’s roots in their house. Darius’s father knew next to nothing about the country his own mother had been raised in, apart from their athletic prowess, which he liked to reference whenever it suited him—typically to remind Darius he should be more successful. Darius himself knew more about the country than his father, though that knowledge had come more from his interactions with other runners than from any familial connection.
The heavy door swung open as Darius approached, and Selena bounded out, tousled curls bouncing as she skipped over to him. “You came!” She squealed.
Darius lowered her to the ground and extricated himself from her arms. “It wasn’t exactly optional.”
A tall figure had appeared in the doorway, and they both fell silent abruptly. He wasn’t a physically imposing man, but he had an aura about him that never failed to make Darius feel small. He didn’t leave the doorway as he addressed them. “You’re late, Son.”
“Apologies, Father,” Darius replied. “The train was delayed.”
“I don’t see why you won’t just hire a car. Or purchase one.”
“I hardly need one in London.”
This was familiar, innocuous comments that added up to an unwavering disapproval of Darius’s lifestyle.
Darius’s father ushered them into the formal dining room, where the staff had laid out a roast dinner. Darius picked at his potatoes as his father directed his attention to Selena. Darius had been expecting an interrogation, so he was relieved she had provided a distraction, which only made him feel guilty. Selena, though, had been keeping a secret, even from Darius, and it seemed their father had found out.
She’d had her university acceptance letters back and had broken family tradition by not even applying to Oxford. She’d been accepted to an American University, on a full scholarship for rowing.
“I just don’t see why you need to go so far; there are plenty of excellent universities in England if you don’t want to attend Oxford.”
“They offered me a full scholarship. Do you have any idea how rare that is?”
